


Not Even Close

by rufousnmacska



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, abraxos - Freeform, blackbeak witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2018-12-22 06:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11961834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufousnmacska/pseuds/rufousnmacska
Summary: These are short, unconnected stories. I’d call them variations on a theme. The theme being Manon and Dorian figuring some of their shit out in those first weeks of traveling together after EoS. Fair warning - I’m slightly obsessed with things like sleeping arrangements. And one letting something slip that reveals how much they like the other. And them fighting their attraction… and failing badly.Feel free to send a prompt or request!





	1. Sleeping Arrangements

Surfacing from a deep sleep, eyes still closed, Manon was aware of one thing. This was not her bedroll. The first clue being the woodsy scent surrounding her. A crisp and boreal smell that made her mind linger on the word _home_. The second clue was the arm angled over her hip, extending down her leg. And the chest pressed against her back.

 _Shit_. She cracked her eyes open. _At least it’s still dark_ , she thought.

Dorian had taken to sleeping away from where she and the Thirteen settled each night. Her sneaking back and forth to him likely wasn’t fooling any of her witches. But she sneaked anyway, hoping to maintain some semblance of discretion. And privacy. None of this was any of their business.

Manon did not _sleep_ with her lovers. Male, female, human, fae, or witch. Once she’d taken the pleasure she wanted, she’d always left. She also never visited the same one twice. And kissing… that was not something she normally allowed to happen.

Yet, here she was. Waiting til the others were sleeping to go to Dorian’s bed almost every night. Her lips visibly chapped come morning. And now this. It was the third time she’d fallen asleep in his arms. So much for her reputation.

 _Pathetic_ , she thought, taking a moment to apply other insults so as not to dwell on how deeply asleep she’d been. How warm and comfortable she still was. She winced at the idea of trying to maneuver her way free without waking him.

As slowly as she could, Manon shifted to take hold of his arm, planning to move it just enough to roll away. Then, she’d figure out how to get out from under the blankets.

But the instant her hand touched his, Dorian’s arm dropped to encircle her waist and he pulled her closer.

“Planning to escape again?” he purred into her ear.

She closed her eyes, savoring his breath on her skin. Thank the Goddess her back was to him and he couldn’t see her reaction. But he probably heard-

“Does that moan mean you’re going to stay til morning witchling?”

Without warning, he spun her around to face him, his arms falling back into place. A hand on the small of her back. The other one…

Manon bit her lip to keep from moaning again as his hand slid between her thighs. He rubbed it against her, slowly, pressing firmly with the heel of his palm.

She gasped a _don’t stop_ when he pulled his hand away. But it was only so he could reposition it. Inside her pants. With no more fabric between them, Dorian’s fingers slid down further between her legs. Then up. Then back down.

Manon thought she might actually be panting. She was definitely moving her hips against him, trying to force his fingers were she wanted them to go. But he continued to deny her, pulling them away. Teasing her. Smirking at the effect he had on her.

“Damn you, Dorian,” she growled into his mouth.

His tongue flicked out and he ran it across her lower lip… Just as he slid his fingers inside her.

Manon gasped, not caring if anyone heard. She grabbed the back of his head and pulled his mouth to hers. And while he worked her into a frenzy, she devoured him, kissing her way along his jaw, to his ear, down his throat.

As the pressure and pleasure and heat were building to a crescendo within her, she returned to his lips, hoping to stifle the noises she would surely make. But Dorian pulled his head away.

“I want to watch you come Manon,” he said, his voice low and rough and out-of-breath.

With his eyes wide and all-consuming, his fingers stroking her to ecstasy, Manon clutched his shirt in both hands. Gods… she was panting now, fighting the urge to cry out as she writhed against him.

And when she went over the edge, her orgasm seeming to go on and on, she kept her eyes locked on his. Marveling at the intensity of her pleasure. The intensity of his stare.

Having somehow managed to stay quiet, Manon dropped her head onto the ground as she came down from her high. Rolling onto her back she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. And she was waiting.

But instead of a smartass _I told you so_ remark, Dorian reached over and turned her head to face him. He leaned in, kissing her with a gentleness that made her breath catch.

“I sleep easier when you’re next to me,” he said, careful to keep his voice quiet. “So.” He grinned lazily but the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. “If I have to do that every night to get you to stay with me, I’m happy to oblige.”

Manon rolled over onto her side and watched him, imagining the types of nightmares he must endure. Wondering how she could possibly do anything to ease them.

“Why?” she asked.

Understanding the depths behind her simple question, Dorian’s smile disappeared.

She had come to feel that seeing him without a smile was like a bright sunny day suddenly turning wet and gloomy. Except… she was learning how to bring back the sun for him. At least, sometimes. Manon brushed a few dark curls off his forehead and rested her hand on his cheek. He turned his head and kissed her palm.

“You calm me,” he said. A true smile then, and he raised an eyebrow. “Maybe not in every way.” She laughed quietly, but he grew serious again. “And… I feel as though you see me. All of me. Parts no one else knows about.”

She frowned at the sadness in his voice. The implication that no one else had ever done that. Seen him. Accepted him.

Turning so her back was against him again, Manon inched closer to him and pulled his arm so it fell over her waist. She kept a hold on his hand, resting it against her chest.

With a whisper, she said, “I might be able to get used to this.” Tilting her head so he was certain to hear her, she said, “Don’t think I won’t hold you to your offer princeling.”

He laughed, burrowing his head into her hair. “I would hope for nothing less witchling.”


	2. Excuses

After several hours in the air on the back of a wyvern, Dorian was more than happy to land. His first time flying - a feat he was still trying to comprehend - had been a wild ride. His mild fear of heights had turned into full blown acrophobia. With a fear of falling now accompanying it.

But. The upside was his position on the wyvern. Hours spent sitting right behind Manon. That pretty much overrode the fears. At least enough to keep him from hyperventilating.

As Abraxos dropped down towards the forest canopy, Dorian kept his eyes straight ahead. Focusing on the back of Manon’s head. Resisting the persistent urge to lean down and nuzzle her silken braid.

Glancing back to him, Manon said, “We’re almost there princeling.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Flying has been wonder-”

Abraxos let himself free fall for a few seconds, forcing Dorian to squeeze Manon’s waist. He hunched over, pushing his forehead against her shoulder and closing his eyes against whatever grisly death awaited them. Gods, he hoped he didn’t vomit on her.

But as quickly as he had dropped, Abraxos leveled out and landed gracefully in a large clearing. The other wyverns came down around them, maintaining the positions of their flying formation.

With his arms still wrapped tightly around her, Dorian felt Manon laughing. He lifted his head to see Abraxos watching him. The cheeky, little bastard almost looked like he was laughing too.

“Nice,” Dorian groaned. “Like rider, like wyvern?” he asked.

Manon loosened his hold on her and shifted around in the saddle. She wore the traces of a smile, but she had the decency to look a little concerned. “Why didn’t you tell me you don’t like heights?”

Dorian sighed. For a second he thought he might lose the battle he was fighting with his stomach. But, after a few deep breaths, he felt a little better. Good enough to crawl off this damned wyvern, get his feet on solid earth… and promptly double over hoping not to get sick.

Manon hopped down next to him, landing as lightly as a feather. The imagery almost made him laugh. A deadly Ironteeth witch being compared to a feather. She cocked her head, silently demanding an answer to her question. He stood slowly and smiled.

“Why would I want to ruin your esteemed opinion of me before we even start this adventure?”

She laughed. Not completely at him. And not with malice. It was such a genuine laugh, pure and lovely, that it made him want to do anything to hear it again.

Judging from the looks the other witches were giving them, Dorian guessed that Manon did not laugh like this very often.

And just as he had that thought, she seemed to feel the stares. With a rather nasty glare, she eyed each member of her coven until they turned away and busied themselves with setting up camp.

But both he and Manon heard the chuckles and whispers. Some clearly not trying to be quiet about it. Manon’s face flashed from embarrassed anger to exasperation.

Attempting a distraction, Dorian asked, “What can I help with? The saddle?”

Manon was watching him with narrowed eyes. “Maybe Ghislaine should take a look at you.” She reached up as if to touch his face, but then pulled back awkwardly at the last second. “You uh… That’s quite a black eye you have there,” she said.

Dorian touched it and winced. He’d forgotten about it. About all of the aches and pains from the battle. His phobia had taken all of his attention. Well, that and the witch he’d been holding on to.

“I thought I would have healed on my own by now,” he said. “But I guess I used too much magic in the battle.”

“Did they board your ship?”

“Not til the end,” he said. “But since I was shielding and attacking with magic, I didn’t get too caught up in the hand to hand fighting.”

Manon furrowed her brow. “Then how did you get that?” she asked. This time, when she reached for him, she didn’t shy away. Gently, she tipped his head back to examine the bruise. It was her turn to wince. “Your magic must be working to some degree. There’s not as much swelling as there probably should be.”

Even after her fingers left his chin, Dorian could feel the heat of her touch. Without thinking, he brushed his fingers over where hers had just been.

“Dorian?” she asked. “How did that happen?”

He’d been staring at her. And despite her words and amused look, he couldn’t stop. The snap of her fingers in his face did the trick though.

“Nothing exciting,” he shrugged. “Aedion punched me when he found out you and Aelin had gone into the witch mirror.” With a laugh, he added, “As if I could force either of you to do something you didn’t want to.”

The smile on her face vanished.

"What?” he asked, quickly growing concerned though he wasn’t quite sure why. “Manon?” He put a hand on her shoulder, but she only shook her head and looked away.

“What’s wrong?” he pressed.

When her eyes returned to his they were hard and cold with anger. “He had no right to do that to you.”

Dorian scoffed. “He’s a hothead. If they didn’t look so much alike people would know he and Aelin were related by their tempers alone.”

Manon nodded, then eased a bit before saying, “I’m… sorry about what happened to her.”

“Aelin?”

She huffed a laugh. “I really did not like her at first. Being beaten after volunteering information… It didn’t exactly endear her to me. But, I can understand-”

Dorian stopped listening. He stopped seeing. Maybe even stopped breathing. The only thing he was aware of was the fury flooding up inside him.

That, and the word “beaten”. It rattled through his head over and over.

She’d been beaten. While chained up on the ship. Beaten, after telling them what they’d asked for. Beaten when he’d been elsewhere. And he’d been unable to stop it. Just like before…

“Dorian!”

He heard his name being repeated but it was muffled. Something gripped his arms, shaking him, slowly forcing his vision and hearing to return.

“Dorian.” He felt her hands on either side of his face now. And she kept saying his name. It was becoming clearer.

Then all he could see were her eyes. Gold, intense and endless. So bright and lovely and worried…

“Dorian.” This time his name was a whisper.

“When?” He tried to keep his voice calm, but her expression told him it had not worked. He took her hands from his face and rubbed his thumb along her wrist. Feeling her strong pulse helped to soothe him. Just as her eyes had. But what little magic he had left still threatened to burst from him in anger.

With a rough whisper, Dorian asked, “How badly did they hurt you?”

Manon was watching his thumb as it traced the veins of her wrist. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned with.” She looked back up at him. “I was their prisoner.” Her face hardened before his eyes. “I’ve done worse when the roles were reversed.”

She probably had, he thought. But he didn’t care. If he’d had any idea Aelin had done that… He felt overwhelmed with emotion. The rage was still there. But now it was joined by resentment and disgust for his friends’ behavior. Contempt for his own naivety. And shame. Shame for not protecting her. Gods, when had it happened? Where had he been?

“As you said, she has a temper. She just… let it get the better of her and… she hardly even touched me. It doesn’t concern you,” she repeated, getting agitated. “You’re not my…” She trailed off.

Dorian stared at her. She was right about one thing. He wasn’t anything to her. And he probably was overreacting. Focusing only on how it effected him.

But he couldn’t understand how she could just… take it. Make excuses for Aelin. Hell, Manon was practically blaming herself for it.

But… hadn’t he just made the same excuses for Aedion?

Abraxos suddenly caught his eye. The wyvern was staring at him with his dark, eerily intelligent eyes. It was a little unsettling. Captivating. Dorian suddenly realized something.

Abraxos had somehow brought his dying rider to him. Straight to him. There was no one else on that ship she remotely knew. Dorian didn’t know how or why Abraxos had done it. He only knew that it had to mean something.

Turning his attention back to Manon, he caught a brief glimpse of sadness on her face. It was there and gone so fast he knew it was a thing she usually kept hidden. Rarely witnessed. Just like her laugh.

He took hold of her chin and tilted her head so she had to look at him.

“It is my concern Manon. Because I am something to you. I’m your friend.” She tugged her head free of him. But he still held her hand. “If I’d known they’d planned to do that to you, I would have stopped them. I would have let you go.” After a long pause, he said, “I would have taken you away.”

Her eyes narrowed at his words. Confused, she simply asked, “Why?”

“Because what they did was wrong,” Dorian replied. “But also…” He shifted so he held her hand firmly in his, their fingers entwined. “You are something to me. You are important to me.”

The words seemed to hit her hard. So unexpected that she must not have heard them often. At least, not from anyone outside of her beloved Thirteen.

Dorian’s chest ached at the thought. Without thinking he leaned towards her and whispered, “You are very important to me. And I won’t ever let you forget that.”

Manon blinked up at him. He didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, so he squeezed her hand and started to turn away. But she held on to him. For a few seconds at least. A thank you in the gesture, in her eyes, that she was not able to speak.

When she let him go, he smiled and said, “I’ve never dealt with a wyvern saddle before. So, you’ll have to show me how all these straps come apart.”

After a moment of watching him, she returned his smile and joined him by Abraxos. “Well then. Pay attention princeling. I’ll only go over this once.”

Dorian laughed. Partly at her poor attempt to intimidate him - the softness of her smile gave her away. But mostly because he knew there was no way he’d be paying attention to anything but her.


	3. Home

Manon opened her eyes to find it was still night. The only sounds she heard were the soft hooting of a distant owl and the crackle of the fire behind her. She rolled over, immediately noticing the empty bed roll where Dorian should have been. With a frown, she sat up, wondering why he’d be awake when it wasn’t his turn to keep watch.

He was by the fire, curled over his bent knees, chin on crossed arms. His blankets were a tangled mess. As was his hair she realized. His body shook with a tremor of cold. Or something else. Manon stood, pulling one of her blankets with her, and made her way to where he sat.

Dorian could see her approaching but didn’t acknowledge her, his eyes darting back and forth over the dancing flames. After draping the blanket over his shoulders, she sat down next to him. Close enough to touch, but not doing so. She mirrored his position - arms up on knees, watching the fire.

They sat together in silence for quite some time before Dorian shifted to look at her, his cheek now resting on his arms. As if he had no energy to even lift his head. Judging from the dark circles under his eyes, she understood why.

Manon moved so she could look at him more easily and thought of asking him about his nightmare, but she refrained. If he wanted to talk about it, he would.

He surprised her by saying, “Your coven won the battle for us.”

She smiled with pride. She couldn’t help it. The Thirteen were fierce warriors. But she was just as proud of their allegiance to her and her new mission. That they hadn’t balked at learning of her Crochan blood still brought an ache to her chest.

“They have an excellent leader,” she said with an overly cocky grin.

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not the smile she’d been hoping for, but it was a start.

He just sat there, gazing at her now instead of the fire. Manon wanted to look away but couldn’t. She was never one to break eye contact. But his stare was so intense, made more so by the firelight reflected in his blue eyes. She was utterly trapped by them.

Finally, he said, “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

She shook her head. Though, thinking about it, she didn’t know what had brought her so quickly from a deep sleep.

“I’m not sure how much help I can be with the Crochans,” he said, looking back to the fire.

“I have no idea why you’d think that. You’ve charmed my Thirteen in little more than three days.” She gestured to where the wyverns were huddled up together at the edge of camp. “Even Abraxos trusts you. He found you in the middle of the ocean when I told him to get me to safety.”

The second the words left her mouth she cringed. And Dorian whipped around to face her again.

 _Shit_ , she thought miserably, keeping her eyes on the fire.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the smile she’d tried to coax from him earlier. Her heart skipped a beat, but she wished his mood change hadn’t been at her expense.

“Shut up,” she said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

She looked to find him still grinning. But it wasn’t an arrogant, teasing expression. It was more like gratitude.

And then, to even the playing field, he shrugged and said, “I may have jumped into the ocean to rescue you. So, he made a good call.”

Manon laughed quietly. “My knights in shining armor.”

Dorian started talking then. Not about the horrors keeping him from sleep, but endless questions about the wyverns. Where they’d come from, were they all as intelligent as Abraxos, was flying on them better or worse than brooms… On and on until the first rays of the morning sun appeared on the horizon.

Noticing the changing light they grew quiet again. Until Dorian apologized for keeping her awake. Manon shrugged it off. Then he looked at her with that same intense stare from before. And as before, she was caught by it. So distracted she did nothing as he reached for her hand. In fact, she didn’t know he was holding it until he broke their gaze to look at where his thumb was gently caressing her skin.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” she whispered. Part of her wanted to pull away. Maybe even lash out at the unexpected intimacy. But his touch felt good. Sending shivers through her in a way that was hot and cold at the same time.

“For not asking,” he replied. “For not pitying me. And for the blanket.” He pulled it around and bunched it up in his face, inhaling deeply. “It smells like you.”

Still lost in his eyes, in his touch, Manon blurted, “I’m sorry. It must be awful after all this travel.”

Dorian didn’t smile this time. Instead, he leaned closer to her, his eyes moving across her face. “No,” he rasped. “It… You smell like… calm. The calm after a storm.” His eyes flicked down to her lips. “You smell like you taste.”

She wasn’t breathing. His mouth parted and… she wasn’t breathing. When he drew even closer, resting his forehead on hers, she managed to ask, “And what do I… taste like?”

Both of their eyes were closed but she sensed, then felt his smile, as he said, “Like home.”

His lips finally met hers and she melted against him, remembering that he’d tasted of home when she’d first kissed him.

Dorian pulled away too quickly, looking at the still sleeping figures surrounding them with a sheepish grin. She knew what he was thinking and felt the same way. Despite their desire, this wasn’t the time or place to continue.

But he kept her hand in his and she moved closer to him. Using his magic, he placed the blanket over their shoulders as they watched the clouds break apart for the rising sun.


	4. Tell Me

“Wait Manon!”

Dorian reached out, just managing to grasp her as she began to walk away. She turned to face him, staring down at their joined hands. He waited for her to pull away, snarl at him, lash out somehow.

But… Manon just stood there, looking at their hands. Studying them. As if the sight held the answer to some lifelong mystery. _Maybe it does_ , he thought, hope suddenly flooding him. _Maybe_ …

Slowly, he took a step towards her. “Tell me Manon.” Her gaze remained locked on their hands. “Tell me you don’t feel this. Tell me, and I will leave. I won’t bother you again.”

She finally looked up to meet his eyes. Fear flashed across her face and he wasn’t sure if it was from his threat to leave, or the feelings she didn’t want to admit to. “Feel what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The stubborn anger in her words caused his hope, and his heart, to falter. But she still hadn’t dropped his hand. Dorian took another step.

“This,” he said, softly brushing his thumb along Manon’s wrist. “This connection between us. This… pull.” Manon didn’t move. Didn’t leave. So, he said, “I can’t stop thinking about you, wanting to be near you. Needing to be near you.” Another step towards her. And she leaned closer to him. Barely an inch or two, but enough for him to notice. He felt her pulse speed up against his fingers. “Tell me you don’t feel the same and I will go.”

 

* * *

 

Manon wasn’t sure if she was breathing. When he’d grabbed her hand, her first instinct should have been to throw him off. She should have been furious at the audacity of his touch. Should have been sneering at this display of emotion.

But… She hadn’t felt any of those things. She looked back down at their hands, trying to figure out why her instincts were betraying her. _This is weakness_ , she told herself. _Needing him. Wanting him so badly… it’s just weakness_.

Dorian’s fingers were feather light as they ran over hers. The jolt she’d felt at his touch… _What was that_ , she wondered? She looked up into his eyes. With only the moon for light, she couldn’t quite make out the different shades of blue in them. But she could see the intensity clearly enough. The feelings to match his words. She glanced away, her heart starting to race.

He still had her hand in his. A firm but gentle grasp. Offering her his strength. But only if she wanted it. Offering himself. But only if she wanted him. _Tell me you don’t feel this connection_.

Not sure why she was doing it, she leaned forward. Closer to him. It was her first instinct. Her only instinct, it seemed, when she was near him.

“Tell me you don’t feel-”

“You know I can’t,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. She sensed him tense. “I can’t tell you that I don’t feel it. And, I don’t want you to go.”

 

* * *

 

Dorian released the breath he’d been holding as Manon stepped forward, closing more of the distance between them.

“I don’t…,” she hesitated, but her eyes never left his. “I’m not sure I understand it.”

“I don’t know that I understand it either;” he admitted. “I do know it’s more than an attraction. It’s more than lust.”

She cocked a disbelieving eyebrow and he smirked. “That’s definitely part of it witchling,” he said. Her pulse sped up again. “But it’s more. Much more.”

Another hesitant pause before she said, “I know.”

“My magic… It… responds to you. When Abraxos brought you to the ship, almost dead… I felt you before I saw you. When the others were about to shoot you from the sky, I was ready to stop them.” He gave her a pointed look. She didn’t reply, but she understood his implication. He’d been about to unleash his magic on them. Anything to save her, prevent more harm being done to her. That they were his friends hadn’t mattered in that instant.

“And when we made love.” She tried to turn away but he nudged her chin back to face him. “It wasn’t just sex Manon. No matter what we tell ourselves. It may have started out that way. A distraction from our pain. From the people and things we’d lost.” She said nothing. “And it took me a long time, too long, to admit the truth to myself. But it was more than a distraction.” Her unchanging expression gave him a second of doubt. “At least, for me.”

Manon’s eyes moved across his face, studying him as she thought about how to reply. Dorian held his breath again. Waiting. Hoping.

 

* * *

 

Manon knew he was right. She’d lied to herself too. Told herself it had been a one time thing. A release. A distraction, as he said. She’d told herself the remaining desire - not just to have him inside her again, but to know more about him, know all of him - had been simple lust. But hearing him say it had been more for him… She knew. Knew all of her insisting had been no more than excuses. Excuses to hide the feelings growing within her. Excuses to avoid the fear she felt at giving in to them.

She realized she was tired. Tired of wearing the mask. Tired of the pretense. Tired of lying to herself.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she said, “I’ve never felt anything like this before Dorian. I don’t know…” Her brow furrowed slightly. “How to act. I’m not sure how it works. What comes next.” She frowned in frustration, feeling as though she was making no sense.

But he smiled and said, “I’m not truly sure either. We can try to find out. Together.”

Manon glanced down at their linked hands and smiled. Tentatively at first, then growing a sharp, hot edge when she looked back up to find his eyes lit with need.

Dorian pulled her slowly to him, dropping her hand to wrap his arms around her waist. She took him in with all of her senses, her mind filled only with _him_. Then, reaching up, she ran an unsteady finger along his lower lip. He gasped at her touch.

Leaning down, he brushed his lips along hers, his tongue a brief tease along her skin. Manon moaned but stood still, waiting, despite wanting more. But Dorian moved away, leaving her mouth parted with desire, his eyes dark and dancing at what he’d done to her with just that barely-there kiss.

“Tell me,” he said again, his voice so low and breathless it made her ache. “Tell me you feel it.”

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him back down to her, devouring him with a kiss to show him just how much she felt it. How much she wanted it. Wanted him. And as her hands ran through his hair, her lips slid across his jaw, her tongue traced his ear… Now, he was the one moaning.

Smiling, she abruptly broke them apart, leaving him a bit dazed. But when he noticed her pleased grin, he laughed and said, “Was that a yes then?”

“That, princeling,” she said, taking hold of his rumpled shirt, “was a definite maybe.” Giving him a long, considering look, she added, “Witches require hard evidence for these types of things.” She backed away, leading him by the shirt still in her hand.

With a deep, mischievous laugh, Dorian said, “Well then witchling. Allow me to offer some proof.”


	5. Proof

Dorian’s eyes were starting to glaze over as Manon dragged him through the copse of trees back to their camp. She walked backwards, leading him, gracefully stepping over exposed roots and other obstacles along their path. Her slender fingers poised to undo another button of her shirt.

He bit his bottom lip, anticipating the moment when he could get her undressed and run his tongue along every inch of her skin. Manon paused, staring at his mouth, her own slowly parting. She was so enthralled that she failed to notice the low stump behind her as she took a half step backwards. But before she lost her footing, Dorian reached out and grabbed her arms, keeping her upright.

He pulled her close, ignoring the annoyed embarrassment that passed quickly across her face. Quickly because when he let go of her arms, his hands slid down to cup her backside.

“The hell with going back to the tent,” he growled, lifting her up against him and nudging her legs to wrap around his waist. She obliged and he turned back the way they’d come, heading towards a soft bed of moss underneath an ancient pine.

Her hands were in his hair as she kissed his ear, teasing the lobe with her teeth. When he stumbled from the maddening distraction, Manon chuckled, then redoubled her efforts.

“I’ll have you on your back soon enough witchling.”

She answered with a vague, “Hmmm…”

Ducking under the low, sweeping branches, Dorian said, “Care to help me for a min-” He groaned as she drew her tongue down his neck. And as if she’d read his mind, she pulled back to unbutton his shirt.

Manon smirked. “You could set me down,” she drawled, only to tighten her legs around him. With an iron nail, she took care of the buttons and scraped it back up his chest. A single drop of blood pooled at the end of her path and he watched, wide-eyed and breathless as she brushed it off and sucked it from the tip of her finger. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, a sharp smile spreading across her face.

Dorian didn’t know how he was still standing let along holding on to her. If he’d thought he was in control… well, he was sadly mistaken. He’d need to remedy that.

Shifting her to free an arm, he tried to get out of his shirt but she pulled it off for him. Switching hands, he shrugged out of the other side, then used his magic to lay it out flat on the ground.

“So chivalrous,” Manon purred, her eyes practically glowing in the low light.

“I believe you asked for proof,” he replied, kneeling down and laying her on the ground. He sat back up, his hands grasping the waistband of her pants while his magic gently raised her arms over her head. He bit back a groan. Her own shirt was dangerously close to coming apart, only a couple of buttons holding it together. “Would making you beg be sufficient evidence?” he asked with a wicked grin.

Manon’s eyes flashed and she snarled, as if ready to tear him apart for his insolence. But there was no resistance to his hold on her, no move to actually tear him apart, which she was more than capable of doing. So, he tugged her pants off and bent so he hovered over her. One hand undoing those final two buttons of her shirt, the other stroking the inside of her thigh. He lowered himself further so his mouth was mere inches from her.

Gods, he was pushing his own limits here. If he didn’t watch it he’d be the one who ended up begging before long.

His eyes rose slowly, lingering on all of her that he could see from this vantage point. “Don’t worry witchling,” he said, the air buzzed with magic as he placed a shield around them. “No one will hear you but me.” When his gaze finally met hers, he cocked a brow at the smug challenge he found there.

 _You may try princeling_ , she seemed to say, shifting to brush her knee back and forth against his cheek.

He took hold of her leg and positioned it around his neck, ignoring the urge to gloat as she trembled from the slow touch of his knuckles moving down her thigh.

For just an instant, he dipped a finger inside her. Her hips rotated, wanting more, but he stopped her with a hand on her belly, holding her in place. Then, his eyes on hers, he sucked two fingers into his mouth before sliding them inside her. Her sharp intake of breath was the twin to his own as he began to pump and flex his hand. Slowly though, just a tease for now.

Feeling her struggle against the magic holding her, he released her arms and they immediately went to his hair. Manon wasted no time in trying to press his mouth to her. He resisted, and couldn’t stop the deep laugh that escaped at her insistence. But she was beyond noticing.

His fingers were submerged within her, stroking, sliding, making her squirm and moan. Reaching up, he stretched the other hand to brush both of her nipples. He was watching her every movement; back arching into his touch, hips rocking, eyes closed, mouth open, chest rising and falling with increasing speed.

Gods, he needed to look away before he lost his damn mind. So he focused on where she had been guiding him and began teasing her with his tongue. But the instant he tasted her, he preceded to lose his mind anyway.

Manon hissed at the contact, tightening the grip of her hands in his hair and her legs around his shoulders. She was grinding against him, and he curled his fingers inside her while he worked her with his tongue.

Releasing his head to clutch the rumpled shirt beneath her, she moaned loudly. “Yes, oh gods…”

He glanced up and caught her watching him. He held her gaze as he continued licking and stroking. The eye contact was a spark, setting her on fire. And just like that, Manon’s body arched high off the ground. She fell back and as her hips rolled against him, he felt her tighten around his fingers. She let out a cry that made him glad they were shielded. The whole coven would have heard it otherwise. And though she called out his name - once, twice - he heard no pleading. No begging.

As they both caught their breath, Dorian resigned himself to the fact that he might have to be here all night with her.

“Why are you smiling like that?” she rasped.

“No reason,” he whispered, moving to hover over her again.

Before he could do anything, she twisted and had him rolled over onto his back, her legs tightly straddling him. She reached for his hand and pulled it to her mouth. Not, he realized, the hand he’d used on her breasts. But the other one, still slick from being inside her. All of the air left his lungs as he watched Manon take her time licking both of his fingers clean.

Gods. He didn’t stand a chance.

When she was done, she let out a deep laugh. “You can breathe now princeling.”

But he didn’t bother with that. He pulled her down and kissed her. Hard and needing and holy gods… Having that taste come from these lips… He thought he might truly go mad from wanting her so badly. His tongue covered every inch of her mouth until neither could breathe. Until she was left panting, eyes wildly aglow, and hands quickly moving to get his pants off.

As she freed him, brushing the backs of her fingers along his length, Dorian’s head rolled back and he closed his eyes. Manon bent down closer, her silken braid caressing his stomach. Teasing him as he’d done to her. She must have been waiting, for as soon as he opened his eyes, she smiled and her tongue took over for her fingers.

And he’d thought she was maddening before. Dorian lost himself completely in the feel of her - her hands running up and down his chest, nails scraping his nipples; her mouth around him, her tongue and teeth and lips… Though he had no idea how he still managed it, he thanked the gods for the shield as he moaned her name over and over.

He took hold of her head and gently pulled her away. A flash of worry on her face disappeared as she took in his expression.

Almost as fast as Manon had been, Dorian spun them over so he was atop her again. But much to her surprise, he kept going, spinning her so she was on her stomach.

He leaned over her, turning her head to partially face him. The teeth she had bared at being flipped over disappeared as he whispered, “I still haven’t made you beg, witchling.”

“As I said, you can try,” she replied, nipping at him before he pulled away.

Lifting her by the hips, he positioned himself, rubbing against the wetness still between her legs. He doubted she’d ever been on her knees like this before. Allowed herself to be on her knees. And he paused as the thought really hit him. How much trust she had in him.

Manon shifted further against him, bringing him out of his thoughts. She had twisted to look back at him, the challenge again in her eyes.

So Dorian slid into her. Slowly. Sighing at how good she felt around him. She propped herself on her elbows, still turned to watch him, and he bent to kiss her. His lips never left hers as he moved inside her. Until she broke away from him to gasp when he reached around and brushed the apex of her thighs with his fingers.

Manon’s arms gave out as his touch became less gentle. She slid forward, stretching out, breathing so heavily he thought she might pass out. He worked his hand against her while he ground into her from behind, her hips meeting every thrust.

“There…” she gasped. “Oh Dorian, don’t… don’t stop.”

He didn’t. And when she came, spasming around him, arching up into him, hair freed of her braid, her skin glistening in the moonlight…

Dorian didn’t care if there had been no begging. Manon’s trust in him was worth more than anything else. And as she twisted again to look at him, watch him continue to push inside her, he went over the edge with her.

Later, after he collapsed and she rolled over to lay against him, her hand over his heart, his stroking her hair, her voice so quiet no one else would have heard her, Manon whispered, “Please, Dorian.”

She didn’t look at him but her arm stretched to wrap around him and she smiled against his skin. He heard the emotion in those two words. Felt it. Along with the thudding of his heart, which she surely felt too.

He pulled her closer, kissed the top of her head, and smiled.


	6. Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received a request on tumblr for “Asterin teasing Manon about Dorian”. This kind of went off in a sad direction but I think it's something Asterin would struggle with, so I went with it.

After a few weeks of traveling with Rowan’s group, Asterin was having trouble adjusting to sleeping on solid, stable ground. It had taken her no time to get used to the rocking of the ship. The rolling of the waves and sound of the water lapping against the side had a calming effect on her, quieting unwanted thoughts. She’d loved it. Much to Briar’s chagrin, who remained in the air on her wyvern as long as possible each day so at least some contents of her stomach stayed down. 

She missed it. And this was only her second night back with the Thirteen. No. The Thirteen _and Dorian_. 

Asterin hadn’t known what to expect upon her return. That day they’d split up on the beach, the entire coven had stood frozen, holding their collective breath as Dorian casually climbed atop Abraxos and slid into place behind Manon. As Second, she’d received a few quick, questioning looks. Which she ignored. She was leaving to escort Rowan’s party to who knew where. The others could sort out whatever was between Manon and the King. Although she knew more details than most, the rest had been suspicious for a while. 

Now that she was back, it was obvious Manon and Dorian had grown closer. Obvious because of how much they tried to avoid each other. Obvious if you knew what signs to look for in Manon. Tiny things that most would miss - the twitch of her mouth that served to quell a smile; the quick touches when they allowed themselves to be near; the hint of softness in her voice when she spoke to him. 

Dorian though… He was an open book. His eyes never strayed from Manon for long. And regardless of how much distance there was between them, his body seemed to gravitate to hers. Around hers. As if there was some invisible connection linking them. 

If she was honest with herself, she’d expected… more. No, she’d hoped there would be more between them. Hoped Manon would feel free enough to let at least some of it show.

But this? This was just insulting. 

An eyebrow arching in annoyance and a sigh escaping her lips, Asterin watched Manon creep out of her bedroll and silently walk out of camp. Only to be followed by Dorian. Who, earlier that night, had made a show of setting up his spot on the opposite side of the fire from Manon. 

For a moment she thought of following them, a hundred ideas for scaring the shit out of them running through her head. Just as she was about to sit up, she stopped. Before they were lost among the trees, Asterin saw Dorian catch hold of Manon’s hand and pull it to his mouth for a kiss. She saw the brilliant smile that spread across Manon’s face. The sight was like a punch to her gut, and she fell onto her back and looked blankly up to the sky. 

A while later, she rolled over to find Sorrel wide awake too.

“How long?” Asterin asked, nodding behind her.

Sorrel’s blanket rustled from a hidden shrug. “Since we left Eyllwe.”

Asterin snorted. “And it’s been like this? Sneaking about as if no one would notice?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather they sneak off than subject us to hearing it,” Sorrel said, eliciting another snort from Asterin. Gods she’d missed her coven. “But yes. I think Manon actually thinks we don’t know.” Sorrel shuffled down into her blankets. “It’s insulting.”

“Agreed. On both counts.”

“She shouldn’t feel like she has to hide it. Though…” Sorrel trailed off. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s him keeping it hidden?”

“No one makes her do anything she doesn’t want to.” But as soon as the words left her mouth, Asterin knew it was a lie. Sorrel did too judging from the look on her face. 

“I don’t think that’s what’s happening anyway,” Sorrel continued. “He’s been nothing but polite and respectful to all of us. Especially Manon. There were a couple of days when he didn’t really talk. Except to her. But otherwise…” She smiled. “I like him. She deserves it.”

Asterin rolled back over and stared at the stars. She didn’t think Dorian had much to do with the sneaking around, aside from just wanting some privacy. This was Manon. Not wanting to give anything away. Or expose her true feelings. Asterin knew all too well what resulted when a Blackbeak formed an attachment to a male. That fear of punishment. Of loss. It was deeply ingrained in all of them. 

Thinking Sorrel had gone back to sleep, Asterin flinched when she asked softly, “Does it bother you? Seeing her happy?”

“Of course not,” she said harshly. But Sorrel didn’t move a muscle at her angry tone. She just kept staring at her. Waiting. Finally, Asterin sighed and said, “I can’t deny that it’s… hard. But I would never begrudge her happiness. Never stand in her way. She does deserve it.”

“We all do,” Sorrel added, her eyes sad yet hopeful, the sentiment clearly meant for Asterin above herself or the others.

They lay in a peaceful silence, Asterin repeating Sorrel’s words in her mind. They’d been for her benefit, but she felt they all deserved some happiness. And Manon clearly needed a push…. Asterin bolted upright.

With a demon’s grin, she turned to Sorrel and said, “Get up. I need your help.”

Less than an hour later, Asterin sensed them returning. Her back was to the direction they’d gone off in, and she was staring at Sorrel’s back, watching her shake in silent laughter. As Manon neared, Asterin hissed at Sorrel to make her shut up. 

She heard Manon and Dorian split up and tensed as Manon’s footsteps approached. 

“What the…”

Witches heads popped out of their blankets, some sat up holding daggers, ready to throw at whatever enemy was near. One of the Demon Twins was standing with an arrow nocked in her bow. 

_Gods_ , Asterin thought, a bit taken aback by Faline’s speed and ferocity. She exchanged a wary but amused glance with Sorrel as they both sat up, then looked around in alarm. They had to play along of course.

Manon was turning in circles, arms half raised, looking at the ground. Growing more pissed with each second that passed. “Where is my godsdamned bedroll?”

Faline huffed in irritation and laid back down to sleep, her still-loaded bow resting in her hands.

Everyone else now turned to Dorian, who, as the only other person out of bed, looked as if he’d been caught with his hand in the sweets jar. 

_He has_ , Asterin thought, biting her lip to keep from laughing. 

Dorian looked down at his own bedroll. Even in the low light, she could see his face turn as red as the fire’s dying embers. He ran his hand through his hair, clearly unsure of what to do or say. But when he finally faced them… 

Well now. Asterin had to admit. That grin was quite a sight. 

Nodding down to his feet, Dorian simply said, “Manon.”

And when she stomped her way around the fire to find her bedroll combined with his, Manon’s face turned red as well. 

A few snorts and laughs rang out as the Thirteen fell back into their own beds. Someone even said, “It’s about time. We’re not blind you know.”

The harshness in Manon’s face melted away as she huffed a laugh, shaking her head. Dorian, still grinning and unable to contain his joy at the new arrangement, kissed her cheek before laying down. 

But before she joined him, Manon looked over and caught Asterin’s eye, a soft smile illuminating her face.

Asterin could only look for a moment before she had to glance away. There was too much… too much emotion on Manon’s face, in Asterin’s heart. Too much love. And happiness. Bittersweet for her. Perhaps for Manon as well. She forced herself to meet Manon’s gaze again and nodded, two fingers on her forehead. Manon returned the sign of respect before laying down next to Dorian.

Asterin eased back and rolled over, doubtful she’d find any sleep tonight but still hoping for some sort of rest. Too quickly, thoughts of her hunter crowded her mind. They were never far away. Always sparked by some random occurrence. And she never knew what might be dredged up - a happy moment from the short time she’d spent with him, or some memory from the devastation that followed.

A hand settled gently on her shoulder. Sorrel. Asterin grasped it and squeezed. Tonight’s spark was apparently something she would need to get used to.

Later, after Sorrel’s hand dropped with sleep, Asterin let herself remember. _Truly_ remember. Every detail, every moment. A lighthearted evening in a cabin in the woods. Her love pretending to court her, using all the human customs she was unfamiliar with. One of them… Bowing at the waist, taking her hand and kissing it. 

A tear slid slowly down her cheek. She wasn’t surprised to find herself smiling. Not just from the memory, which was one of her favorites. But from knowing Manon was happy, for perhaps the first time in her life. And from the hope that welled inside of her at that thought. Maybe she too could find that happiness again. Some day.


	7. Touch

Falling back into the soft mattress, Manon closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. Taking a break from hard road travel by staying at the inn was a relief in more ways than one. They were able to get hot baths as well as clean beds. Luckily, she had just split up the Thirteen to search different parts of Melisande, otherwise, there would have been a battle to determine who got a spot in the small inn. As it was, the four available rooms were enough for them, provided she and Dorian shared one. It had not taken much to convince either of them that it was a logical idea. They’d even agreed with the others about the need for a good night’s sleep. 

_Such good intentions_ , she thought, feeling the mattress dip as Dorian propped himself up next to her. His finger made a slow path down her neck, between her breasts. She smiled at the sensations as he drew intricate patterns on her skin. He liked tracing her scars, sometimes with a finger, sometimes his tongue. Every so often he’d ask her how she got one and she’d tell him the story. It was uncanny how he seemed to choose the ones that weren’t associated with some particularly awful fight. Or punishment. Instead he would select a scar that came from a rough sparring session with Sorrel, or some mischief she and Asterin had managed as witchlings.

She knew he delighted in seeing her like this. Bare, sated, and stretched out before him. Since his eyes always seemed drawn to her anyway, she didn’t mind. And, she had to admit, she rather liked the effect she had on him. She enjoyed looking at Dorian as well, though she was never as blatant. She preferred to steal glimpses of him, clothed or naked, it didn’t matter, when he was otherwise distracted. He was so fascinatingly human… more himself in those moments when he thought no one was watching. She enjoyed observing his mannerisms and expressions, often trying to guess what he was thinking. His small gestures of affection were another area of interest for her. She was coming to savor them, even if she didn’t always understand their meaning. Opening her eyes to watch him now, she found he’d sat up to stare at her belly. Frowning, his fingers hovered over her most recent scar.

Manon flinched at his frigid touch, finally noticing the chill in the air and the anger coming off him in waves.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured, drawing his cold hand away but still staring at the vicious red line in her skin.

Before she could ask what he was talking about, she remembered that night on the ship.

_I’ll stand on the other side of the line when I find your grandmother._

She shivered again. Though it had nothing to do with the temperature. 

“I’ll see that she is properly repaid for this.”

His jaw was clenched tight and his eyes were burning with such intensity that she couldn’t look away. Manon didn’t need him to fight her battles and he knew it. So where was this coming from? 

“Why do you care?” Manon whispered, drawing his attention away from the scar. She’d meant for her words to be defiant but they lacked any force or harshness. She almost didn’t recognize her own voice. “You’re not bound to me,” she continued, thinking of the oaths of her coven. “And you owe me no debts.”   

Dorian shifted to lay down beside her, pulling a blanket up to cover them, and she turned onto her side to face him. They were inches apart, but her question hanging between them made it feel like an ocean. Yet, even as she’d said those words, she craved his touch. She’d survived for decades on minimal physical contact, any touches coming from training or fighting or brief, impersonal encounters with a human or fae. Never anything emotional or meaningful. Never anything so intimate. But after mere weeks of his arms around her in the saddle by day, weeks of him revering her body by night… In that moment Manon realized how much she’d come to depend on him. Need him. The sticky, claustrophobic feeling that seeped through her was not unknown. She’d felt fear before, though not often and always connected to some life and death struggle. But she had never been afraid of something like this. Afraid of herself. Her eyes drifted back to find him watching her, as if he could read her face and know everything she thought and felt. 

“I know what it is to be used and chained by someone who was supposed to protect you. So when I think about everything she did to you… When I see that scar and think about how close I came to losing you before I even really knew you…” He inhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm. “Sometimes my nightmares aren’t just about the collar,” he said. “Sometimes I dream that I’m in Morath, running through hallways, looking for the key, only to find…” Manon stared at him, wide-eyed. His nightmares had seemed to ebb as time passed. Lately though, she’d noticed how sometimes he would wake, frantic to reach for her, reassuring himself that she was safe. She closed her eyes, knowing what he would say next. “I break through door after door, until finally, I come to one that is already open only to find you dead. And when they find me, holding you, trying and failing to heal you, I let them take me because with you gone, I have nothing left.” Dorian brushed the back of his fingers across each of her cheeks, then took hold of her chin, coaxing her eyes open. “I am bound to you Manon. Not by oath or debt. I’m bound to you by choice.” He let go of her chin and pulled her hand to his chest. “And by this.” 

Unsure of what to do or say, Manon just stared at her hand, pale fingers spread out over his copper skin, his heart thudding against her palm.

“I know you meant what you said as well,” Dorian said, drawing her gaze back to his face. His candle-lit eyes were like glimmering jewels. “I will only take what you offer. No more.“ 

She knew he wanted to say more. _Wanted more_. She expected the fear from moments ago to bubble up inside her again, but nothing came. Over the past weeks he had laid every part of himself out for her. And tonight, he gave her his heart. Her fingers twitched where they still rested on his chest. Perhaps the fear didn’t come because she now realized that he needed her, wanted her, as much as she did him. Without meaning to speak aloud, she whispered, “You want more.” 

Doubt and worry clouded his expression and he shook his head. “I… I won’t push you.” She said nothing, needing to hear him say it on his own. Finally, Dorian admitted, “Yes. I want more. I want… all of you. But… anything you are willing to give me is more than I deserve.”

Manon was not expecting that and wanted to tell him that he deserved more than her, but all that came out was another breathless “Why?”

The space between them vanished as Dorian whispered into her ear, “I think you know why Manon.” And then he was kissing her. Gently, his teeth skimmed her bottom lip, replaced after a moment by his tongue, which caressed her lips before sweeping inside her mouth. Just as she was about to lose herself in his touch, his taste, she wondered if he knew that she’d never kissed a man as much as she did him. Her desire to kiss Dorian was often overwhelming, sometimes striking her unexpectedly. Sometimes, not unexpectedly. As it had done hours ago, the instant the door to this room had been closed.

When he pulled away, Manon let her curiosity take over. It wasn’t that she never touched him. Obviously. She’d just never felt confident initiating the little human moments of affection with which he often gifted her. Until now. Slowly, she brushed away a dark curl from his forehead. Dorian stilled, watching her. Her fingers grazed his ear and then his jaw, until they found themselves tracing his mouth. He gasped, lips parting around her fingers, eyes fluttering shut as he moaned her name. 

She continued her exploration of his hot, smooth skin until her hand was back over his heart. With her other hand, she took his and pulled it to her chest, splaying his fingers across her breast so he could feel the pounding beneath. His eyes sprang open and he held his breath.

“I do know why,” she said, her voice full and sure. “And you shall have all of me. Because I want all of you.” She leaned over and kissed him, a mirror to his own. Her teeth slid across his lip, followed by her tongue. They stayed joined like that for a long while, resisting the urge to let the kiss boil into anything more. The quiet tenderness somehow added to the declaration contained in their kiss. 

Later, when they finally decided to take advantage of the bed for sleeping, Dorian pulled her closer and tucked the blanket around them. She usually got too warm sleeping so close to him, often ending up outside of the blankets and a few inches from him. But, the nights were getting cooler. And just as she thought she might be able to stay wrapped in his arms for a little longer tonight, the air cooled noticeably. 

“Really princeling?”

He huffed a small laugh into her ear. “Cold air is better for sleep. You’re lucky I have so much magic.”

“I am lucky,” she agreed. Dorian nuzzled into the back of her neck. A new sign of affection that she added to her list to try in the future. But for now, Manon just pulled his arm more tightly around her waist, savoring his skin against hers, and the strong and steady feel of his beating heart.


	8. First Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A text to @itach-i - manorian thought of the day: their first romantic kiss
> 
> @itach-i reply - Go on....

They’ve been together a couple of times since the ship. Stress relief they tell themselves. Just sexual attraction. Nothing more. But as the weeks pass and they spend more time together - talking, learning more about each other, fighting side by side - things start to feel different.

Manon doesn’t know quite what it is and flat out ignores it. Falling back into old excuses that she doesn’t have a heart. She’s incapable of feelings like this. Dorian seems aloof. Deliberately holding back so he doesn’t scare her off. Letting her process it. Letting himself process it. He’s never had such strong feelings for someone and isn’t sure if he deserves it.

After a particularly fierce battle, Manon is scanning the Thirteen to make sure they’re all ok. But no one sees Dorian. She calls for him, then runs through the battlefield searching, growing more frantic with each second that passes.

Dorian appears, coming out of a dense wood, limping but alive. He sees Manon, sees the initial fear, then relief. She runs to him and hugs him, grateful he’s ok. Dorian hugs her back. As they embrace she gives him hell for scaring her. She pulls back and they stare at each other, realizing there’s no denying it anymore.

Dorian stoops down so they’re eye to eye, wraps an arm around her waist and straightens, lifting her off the ground. Manon’s fingers keep touching his face as if to make sure he’s really there.

“My princeling,” she says and Dorian smiles.

He rests his forehead on hers. “My witchling.”

Manon tilts his head back and brushes her lips against his. His arm tightens around her and the kiss deepens. But there’s no urgency, as with the other kisses they’ve shared. The other kisses that were less intimate, less meaningful.

With this kiss, there’s no need to be fast in case someone catches them.

With this kiss, there’s no need to be quick to maintain the illusion that it’s just sex.

His mouth is hers, her lips are his. They breathe each other’s air.

With this kiss, they know.


	9. Sword Play

“What is that supposed to be?”

Manon turned to find Sorrel and a few others watching Dorian. He was using the trunk of a tree as a dummy for sword exercises. With a slow, steady swing, he stopped just short of the tree then spun to bring it down at a different angle. A couple of the witches snickered and she silenced them with a deadly glare. Knowing it was a good time to become scarce, they left to attend to breakfast. Except Sorrel.

She moved closer to Manon. Her voice absent of malice or arrogance, she said, “He’s not… bad. But…” Her Third shook her head and sighed. “Whoever trained him did him no favors.”

Dorian turned, finally noticing the audience. Manon was glad it had lessened in number. But he could read Sorrel’s expression. And hers.

“Something wrong?”

With more gentleness than she though herself capable, Manon asked, “Who trained you in swordplay?”

His eyes flicked between the two of them as he strode towards them. “Different guard captains over the years. But mostly Chaol. Why?”

Sorrel gave her a questioning look and Manon replied, “His captain of the guard.” Under her breath she added, “And best friend.” Sorrel nodded in understanding.

“Am I that bad?” he asked, a smile playing around his mouth. “I admit, I didn’t have much time to practice in the last few…” He paused and Manon saw the shadow fall over his features. He swallowed and said, “Months, I suppose.”

She tried to give him a reassuring smile as she held out her hand for his sword. “May I?” Without hesitation, he passed it over.

Surprised by its weight, Manon hummed in approval. It was an incredible piece of weaponry. Well balanced, easy to grip, a good length for Dorian’s height and arm reach. He’d been taking good care of it too. She ran her fingers down the smooth edge, holding it out at eye level so she could examine its surface. When she turned her full attention to the pommel, noticing the eye-shaped opening devoid of any jewel or other decoration, Manon felt a shiver run down her spine. There were too many ‘eyes’ lately. The Eye of the Goddess. The Eye of Elena. And now this.

“It belonged to Gavin Havilliard,” Dorian explained, as if he read her thoughts.

Manon knew the name. And subsequently, how ancient the sword was. “The Sword of Truth,” she said. Sorrel mumbled a curse and her awestruck gaze jumped to Dorian. Manon clicked her tongue. “You know he is the King. A Havilliard.”

Sorrel, now staring at the sword, said, “Yes but… I thought Damaris had been lost.” To Dorian she asked, “How long have you had it?”

Delighting in her witch’s admiration, Dorian said, “Aelin found it in a hidden tomb in the castle. I’ve only had it for a couple of weeks.”

Manon gave Sorrel a quick look, sure to include a healthy dose of smugness. “Dorian?” His eyes lit up at his name, and she was so caught in their beauty that Sorrel nudged her arm. Manon cleared her throat and said, “Would you allow Sorrel to give you some instruction? You have good fundamentals. But a new sword requires new training.” Dorian was grinning at her, as if he knew she’d been trapped by his gaze moments ago. But. He wasn’t stupid. He knew. Her mouth narrowed and she gave him a silent order to drop it.

With a somewhat restrained smirk, he turned to Sorrel. “I’d be honored,” he said, dipping his head in gratitude.

Her Third didn’t quite know how to react. To the deference and respect he gave her, but also to the prospect of wielding Damaris. For she’d barely taken her eyes off the sword. Manon now nudged Sorrel’s shoulder and the witch finally replied, “We can start now. A couple of quick lessons before we eat.” She was studiously examining the sword handle as she slowly added, “It may simply be a matter of adjusting your grip.” She took the sword gingerly from Manon’s hands and turned to leave. 

“I am at your bidding,” Dorian said, his full, heavy gaze boring into Manon before he joined Sorrel.

A grin spread across her face before she could stop it. “Don’t kick his ass too badly Sorrel. Remember. He is a King.”

Dorian laughed, glancing back at her as Sorrel led him back to the practice tree. His look held a heated promise, and she was suddenly reminded of his words on the ship. _We’re not done, you and I._

Manon replied with an appraising look of her own. _Not even close, princeling._


	10. First Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was requested on tumblr. Feel free to message me here or there with requests. :)

“She is entirely too young Manon. No.”

Dorian turned to leave but Manon caught his arm. He stopped and she loosened her grip, but he wouldn’t face her. He knew, _knew_ , he would ultimately lose this battle. But there was no way he’d go down without a fight.

She slid her hand down his back and walked around to look him in the eye. “She is my daughter too Dorian,” she said gently. “If you think I would risk her life…”

Dorian sighed. “Of course not. I know you would do anything to protect her. Just as I would. But-“

“But she is an Ironteeth witch. She has your raw magic. She is heir to the Witch Kingdom and Adarlan.”

He was already outnumbered. None of the Thirteen would ever side with him, even if by some chance they agreed with him. Chaol and Yrene had been solid support for a while. But then the witches turned Yrene. And Chaol suddenly decided it wasn’t his place to have an opinion

“She is six years old. I do not want her alone on her own wyvern.”

Anger flashed in the Queen’s burnt gold eyes. “Not even Abraxos?”

For the briefest of moments, Dorian hesitated. “No. Not even him. I trust Abraxos. I even trust Madeleine.” Manon quirked an eyebrow in a silent question. “She’s too young. And I am her father.” He turned away from Manon and added, “That’s all the reason I need.” Dorian didn’t know where he was going, he just had to get away.

Some time later, he found himself in the kennels, and smiled. This had always been his favorite place to go when he needed to disappear. Needed space from his court responsibilities. Needed to hide from his father.

Dorian inhaled shakily as he made his way down the center aisle. He entered the pen with the newest litter and sat down, letting the puppies climb over his legs. The unexpected memory of his father wouldn’t fade anytime soon. Instead it would release a flood. The insults, the beatings, the horrors unleashed across the continent. The glimpse of the real man moments before Dorian ended him.

“Maddie finally decided on names for them yesterday.”

Dorian’s smile returned as Manon came in and knelt beside him. Some of the puppies ran over to scramble onto her knees. When they’d rebuilt the castle and moved in as King and Queen, she’d visited the new kennel reluctantly. But he knew she’d love the dogs as much as he did. Abraxos was proof of that. And he’d been right. Now, she and Maddie visited the dogs each day on their way to the wyvern aerie.

So of course she knew where to find him.

“This one is Bean,” she said, lifting the runt, “because she’s small.” Reaching for another, she said, “And this one is Turnip.”

Dorian laughed. “I guess forcing her to eat her vegetables has paid off.”

The biggest puppy jumped into Dorian’s lap and began licking his face. “That one is Pumpkin,” Manon said. “No, wait… maybe it’s Melon. I can’t keep them all straight.”

He watched as she played with the dogs and stretched across the pen to stroke the mother’s ears. Her gentleness with the animals would likely be a surprise to some people. But not to him. Not to her Thirteen or Abraxos. And not to their daughter, whom Manon showered with affection. And patient instruction in all things Ironteeth and Crochan.

Though he rarely watched her practices, Madeleine was fast on her way to mastering the sword. Even if the edges of her weapon were kept dulled. Asterin had started her on archery and she could hit the targets repeatedly, if not the bullseye. And Maddie loved wrestling with Sorrel and any of the other witches who happened to be in the training room with her. Ghislaine was overseeing some of her history lessons, and Yrene let her watch as she made tinctures and salves. His daughter already knew the names and healing properties of many herbs and plants by sight. She was so smart and talented. And only six years old.

Why was he so afraid to let her move forward? As he’d told Manon, he trusted her. He just didn’t trust fate. Not when it came to the family he loved more than anything. 

Dorian was certain he’d never become his father. But maybe holding Maddie back, being too protective, was just the opposite side of the same coin that had been used in his parents’ neglect of him.

“I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to her,” he said softly. Manon was now sitting in the hay next to him, holding a sleeping puppy against her chest. “To either of you.”

She smiled and his heart skipped a beat. As it always did when she looked at him that way. “I feel the same way.”

“How do you do it then? Let her use a sword? Train with Sorrel in hand to hand combat?”

“How do you let her ride that pony? It may be small but it’s still dangerous.”

She had a point, he thought. But there was so much farther to fall from a wyvern if anything should go wrong.

“I worry every single day,” Manon said. “Something new. Every day. But all of these things, the sword training, the horse riding, the lessons… They will help her be a better witch. A better Queen. And that’s more important than my fears.”

She was right. As she usually was, Dorian thought. His beautiful, wise, strong witch. His queen.

Dorian leaned over and kissed her. He felt her smile against his lips, not in victory, but in love. When the puppy she still held squirmed between them, he sat back, giving Bean a glare for disrupting the moment.

“You know I wouldn’t suggest this if she weren’t ready,” Manon said. “And Abraxos and I will be there next to her. He won’t let anything happen to her either.”

Sighing, he reached over and slid some loose hair behind her ear. “I know. But I don’t think I should be there. I don’t want to ruin it for her by making her more anxious.” He nudged her arm. “Or ruin it for you.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. At least for this first time. He’d still be a nervous wreck wherever he hid himself away to wait. But it was better Maddie didn’t see that on her first solo flight. Or the next ones after that, he thought glumly, trying to decide if he’d ever be ready to watch her fly.

Manon lay the puppy next to its mother and stood, holding out her hand to him. Dorian took it and she pulled him up into a hug. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in her scent. “I love you, witchling,” he murmured.

“And I love you princeling.”

 

***

 

Dorian held Manon’s waist tightly as Abraxos twisted in and out of the clouds. He kept his eye on Madeleine, whose iridescent green mount, named Beetle, gracefully followed each of Abraxos’s movements. She wanted to show them something she’d learned on her sixteenth birthday last week. Dorian’s stomach lurched at the possibilities flitting through his mind.

Without any warning, Maddie released her harness and stood on the saddle. Before Dorian could do anything, she leapt into the air. His heart plummeted along with his daughter, and he was yelling and pointing for Manon to do something. But an instant later, he realized Beetle had flown in a loop fast enough to catch her rider safely in the saddle.

Dorian’s chest heaved but when he noticed the pure joy on Maddie’s face, his terror began to subside. His anger, on the other hand, boiled up quickly inside him. “I am going to kill Asterin when we get back,” he growled into Manon’s ear.

She twisted back, his favorite smile beaming on her face. “Look at her.”

He did. And, as Manon had known it would, his heart melted at the sight of their witchling whooping with delight as she soared through the clouds.


	11. Dance Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another request from tumblr. Feel free to message me here or there with requests. :)

Dorian examines the stack of letters and frowns. This year’s Yulemas Ball, the first since the war ended, won’t be as extravagant as those held in previous years. But he thinks the guests will certainly liven things up. Invitations were sent to all the royal houses of Erilea. Also Wendlyn and the Khagan of the Southern Continent. He’s pleased to see how many responded saying they plan to attend. 

But… The one reply that he’d been counting on is missing. Nothing has arrived from the Witch Kingdom. 

They haven’t seen each other since parting a year ago to rule their kingdoms. They fell in love during the war but sacrificed that love to focus on their peoples and rebuilding. The day they parted was one of the worst of his life. But they both knew it had to be that way. _At least for now_ , Dorian had secretly wished. 

They write when they have the time. Which is often, because they make the time. Dorian gets a rush each day when his messages are delivered, hoping that her next letter has arrived. While her letters aren’t flowery or poetic, they are long and detailed and filled with love. And often placed inside the pages of a book she thinks he will enjoy. His are also long and detailed, but he includes the flowers, which have been dried and pressed between the pages of the books she sends him. He also adds the poetry. She won’t admit it but he knows she loves it. 

Dorian’s advisors have become increasingly annoying, badgering him about marrying and providing an heir. But he hasn’t forgotten what he’d once told Aelin years ago. He will marry for love or not at all. And there is only one person he loves. So, he politely bows out of all the royal visits arranged by the advisors. Politely declines the advances made by women in his own court. He hasn’t touched anyone since Manon and has no desire to change that. 

None of this makes it into his letters, and he often wonders if she has been dealing with similar issues from her council.

Philippa sets down a tray of food, interrupting his useless checking and rechecking of the envelopes. She notes his bleak stare. He’s tried to hide his sadness but she’s not easily fooled. “There is still time Your Majesty,” she says. “Your witch may be a Queen, but she never struck me as one to bother with frivolous courtly rules and decorum. Perhaps she will show up unannounced.” 

He smiles appreciatively. “Let’s hope.”

***

Yulemas arrives and he is in his chamber getting dressed, fussing over his crown, when a familiar boom sounds outside. He flings the doors open and runs onto the balcony, snow freezing his still bare feet. There are no signs of a wyvern and he wonders if he imagined it. He finishes dressing and makes his way to the ballroom, forcing smiles in an attempt to boost his mood. 

Standing at the end of the receiving line, Dorian watches the entrance to the room, looking for her while trying to be attentive to his guests as they greet him. An hour passes and everyone has arrived. Except the Crochan Queen.

Things are much more scaled down than in years past due to the rebuilding effort. But the sparse decorations are still beautiful, the food is delicious, and the music is lovely. People are eating, drinking, dancing - celebrating their hard fought freedom and survival. He has insisted that the castle servants join in and though they aren’t mingling much outside of their own group, they are clearly enjoying themselves. Nesryn and Sartaq flirt in a quiet corner. Yrene and Chaol sway back and forth on the edge of the dance floor while Aelin and Rowan take over the rest of the space with a waltz. Aedion and Lysandra sit and watch the others. 

Dorian moves to an empty balcony above the festivities, taking it all in and wishing he was somewhere else. Far west of here.

A tall, blonde woman catches his attention when she interrupts Elide’s dance with Lorcan. The Lady of Perranth is overjoyed and hugs the woman. Dorian narrows his eyes, trying to get a better look. But the woman turns and stares right at him. She grins and winks. It’s Asterin. Which means…

“Hello princeling.”

Her voice is like warm honey and hearing it makes him realize how desperately he has missed her. Dorian turns slowly.

He has imagined her standing before him an infinite number of times over the past year. In those visions, she was always beautiful. But he sees now that his imagination never came close to reality. Her hair is pulled up and arranged into a crown of white silk. Her elegant, ruby red dress hugs each curve. But it’s her eyes. Always, for him, it comes back to her eyes. They glow like the setting sun and he cannot look away.

“Hello witchling.” 

They don’t speak, just stare. Drinking each other in after what feels like a lifetime of drought.

Finally Dorian smirks and says, “I never received your reply. Which means you’re crashing this ball.”

Manon’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “Am I to be punished?”

With a low laugh, Dorian replies, “I think house arrest would be sufficient. For an indefinite length of time. Just to be safe.”

She backs away, leading him from the railing to where it is quiet and private, lit with only a few candelabras.

The instant they are truly alone he pulls her into his arms.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he says. “Every moment of every day.” He buries his head into her neck and inhales, catching a delicate, floral note that he’s never smelled on her before. No doubt some after effect of the curse she’s lifted. Some new scent from the Wastes.

“I think I have an idea. If it’s close to how much I’ve missed you,” she whispers into his ear.

He shivers at the feel of her breath on his skin, the feel of her in his arms.

“Why aren’t you kissing me?” she asks. There is teasing in her words, but also longing. A twin to his own.

Dorian pulls back. He brushes his fingers along her jaw. “Because I just want to touch you. And look at you. And make sure you’re really here and I’m not dreaming.”

Her lips curve into a delicious grin. “You dream about me?”

“Every night.” His fingers venture lower to trace her collarbone and she inhales sharply. “Don’t you dream about me?” With his magic, he caresses her hips and back. Her eyes flutter shut and she eases closer into him.

“Every night,” she admits.

“Dance with me.”

“What?” She steps away, eyes wide.

Dorian laughs quietly. “Don’t tell me the lethal Crochan Queen is afraid of a dance?”

She glances down to the ballroom floor. “I… I don’t know how to dance.” With an icy stare she adds, “It was never part of my lethal training.”

“Just one. Up here. Then we can leave and I will kiss you all night. And all day. For as long as you’re here.” He is afraid to ask her outright how long she plans to stay. He’ll take whatever time he can get with her though.

Manon considers then quirks a brow. “I plan to be here for three days.”

Smiling, he takes one of her hands and places it on his shoulder, then laces his fingers into the other. “You could put your feet on mine.” The glare is back. “Or not,” he adds to appease her. And to make her laugh, which she does.

When the music begins, he sweeps her into the movements, adjusting the steps for her novice feet. But he quickly realizes she is as graceful and lovely as any experienced dancer. No doubt entirely due to her lethal training. As the song progresses and her confidence grows, she follows his lead perfectly. He sends her out into a spin and when she twirls back into his arms, they are both laughing.

The song ends and another begins. Dorian turns to leave, ready to keep his promise to her, but Manon stops him. “Perhaps one more princeling.”

He grins and pulls her against him. “Anything for you witchling.”

They dance for hours, hidden from prying eyes and gossiping courtiers. He spies Chaol checking on him but otherwise, they are left alone. Dancing, laughing, talking. And kissing. He can’t help himself. And neither can she.

He leaves her only once to get a bottle of wine. As they stand at the railing to drink, she says, “My witch council has begun hounding me about heirs.”

Dorian gazes nonchalantly at the crowd below. “There must be something in the winds. My advisors currently have the same obsession.”

“Oh? Have you had many prospects?”

He acts shocked that she’d think otherwise. “Of course. And you?”

She continues with the game. “Quite a few actually. I’m not required to marry royalty as you are. I have a much larger pool to chose from.”

He hides his clenched fist, keeps his magic from surging. There is too much truth in her statement to maintain the playful feel.

Manon turns her full attention to him. “My council isn’t very happy that I’ve rejected all of their choices.” She reaches up and runs her fingers lightly over his cheek. “Sadly for them, there is only one man I want.” His breath catches. “Does your court’s rule mention whether your royal betrothed must be human?” she asks innocently, falling back into their teasing of a moment ago.

He takes her hand from his face and kisses it. “If it does, I might be able to have it amended. I hold a little sway around here.” Then, with a puzzled expression he asks, “Are you asking for my hand in marriage, Your Majesty?” 

“Perhaps,” she purrs. “I do have one stipulation. And it is non-negotiable.”

“Anything,” he whispers, taking her into his arms.

Manon’s smile is breathtaking, her laugh puts the music to shame. “You must continue to write me letters.”

“I will hand deliver them myself.”

***

Manon’s three day visit turns into two weeks. Two weeks of long days filled with meetings and negotiations. Her councilors and his advisors droning on and on about which aspects of the two kingdoms can be combined quickly and which must remain separate for now. Who will be in charge of what, how taxes and treaties and trade deals will be adjusted. On and on.

They get through it because they have two weeks of nights together. And two weeks of mornings waking up next to each other.

They get through it because they are in love and will do whatever it takes to be together. Whatever it takes for them to be happy while keeping their peoples happy too. Even if it means frequent wyvern travel between two cities. Even if it means countless late nights of work and meetings. Those are sacrifices they can easily live with, as long as they are together.

The evening before Manon has to return to the Wastes, they hide away in the royal suite. Chaol gives Yrene a knowing smirk when they don’t appear for dinner. 

An odd sound comes from the suite as Philippa passes by on her way to the kitchens. She puts her ear to the door to make sure she’s hearing correctly.

The King is humming a complicated waltz. Badly. It’s interrupted by laughter and instructions for where the Queen should place her feet.

“Are you sure you won’t put your feet on mine witchling? Just until you learn the steps.”

A loud, defeated sigh. “Only because I want to learn this for the wedding. And I’m bored with those easier ones.” 

Philippa smiles and continues on her way, warmed by the laughter and love that is now commonplace in the royal suite.


	12. The Wyvern

Dorian had always been a bit squeamish when it came to blood. That first sight of Manon’s wound had almost done him in. Yet, something had compelled him to watch over Rowan and Aelin’s treatment. Sure he was learning from them, but he needed to make sure she was ok. Needed to see that she would live. Being in the same room with her was the only thing that kept the weight from crushing his chest. 

He never left her side that first day, foregoing sleep and food and studiously ignoring Aelin’s pointed looks. Rowan seemed to understand his compulsion though. With the first examination, he narrated every movement, every magic spell so Dorian could understand what was happening. 

“I think she has passed through the worst of it. But it’s just going to take time and rest. More healing magic too,” Rowan said. The Fae prince offered to sit with her for a few hours while he and Aelin got some sleep. But as Dorian was heading down the hall to his cabin, he stopped and turned around. 

The instant he was above deck, he locked eyes with the one he’d come to see. The little wyvern was crouched at the stern of the ship, his body coiled with tension and worry. Lysandra and Gavriel were positioned nearby, both ordered to guard him by Aedion. 

“Your Majesty,” Gavriel said. Glancing back to the beast, he asked, “Any updates?” Lysandra was climbing down through the rigging to listen in.

“Rowan and Aelin have more healing to do, but they think she should recover.” The wyvern still stared at him, and Dorian could have sworn he wore a suspicious expression. “Has he eaten? Been given water?”

“He flew off once to catch some fish,” Lysandra said. 

“You two can take a break, I’ll watch him for a while. Could you send someone with a bucket of fresh water?”

Lysandra nodded and Gavriel rested a hand on his shoulder. Before they left, he told Dorian, “Rowan is well versed in wounds like that. She’ll be ok.”

Alone with her mount, Dorian sat against the side of the ship, exhaustion threatening to overtake him. Manon’s wyvern twisted his long neck around to watch him. Now he looked anxious, expectant, demanding. The dark eyes sparkled with intelligence and Dorian couldn’t hold back a smile. “You remember me don’t you?”

The wyvern had done almost as much as Manon to save him during the Ironteeth attack on his city. He’d torn apart the Yellowlegs mount and held the tower while Manon helped him escape. 

He tilted his angular head. Not quite a yes. 

“How did you find us?”

A low whimper was his only reply.

“You’re worried about her.” The wyvern’s eyes widened. “She was badly injured but should be fine. The Fae treating her is a good healer.” Another whining sound emanated from his snout. “I trust him.” A moment passed and then he inched closer to Dorian and rested his head next to his outstretched legs. 

“What’s your name?” Dorian wondered out loud. He knew nothing about wyverns, but this one was so gentle and concerned for his rider, he couldn’t imagine Manon hadn’t named him. His eyes roamed over the creature’s scars and deadly tail as he imagined what she might call him. “Something fearsome I bet. A warrior’s name.” 

His musing was interrupted when a young sailor appeared, lugging a bucket almost as big as he was, water sloshing over its sides. He stopped several feet away, not wanting to come any nearer. Dorian thanked him as he relieved the boy of his burden, then watched with amusement as the wyvern lapped it up. 

“When was the last time you drank?” Black eyes glanced to meet his as the animal continued to drink. Dorian turned and called back to the sailor, “Where do you store the water? He’s going to need more.” The boy, relieved to see that Dorian intended to get it himself, pointed to some barrels secured at the opposite end of the ship. Once the wyvern emptied the bucket, he got more. Four buckets finally sated the beast, and they resumed their previous positions, Dorian propped against the side of the ship, the wyvern curled up next to him.

“Feel better?” A gruff whine made Dorian laugh faintly. “I noticed your flashy wings. That wouldn’t be spider silk would it?” No reply, just big, black eyes staring at him. 

Dorian glanced around to see if anyone was watching them. If they were, he supposed they’d think he was mad, sitting here talking to a deadly beast. Slowly, he rested a hand on the wyvern’s snout. The long release of breath that followed made him smile. 

Growing up, he’d always preferred animals to people. At least, most people. Chaol was the only exception. His dogs offered him companionship that was uncomplicated, with ear scratches and belly rubs the only reciprocation they demanded. No political maneuvering, no court drama, no sycophants trying to gain his favor. Just unconditional love.

He decided he didn’t care what the others thought. As the sun began to set, he continued talking to the wyvern in a low voice that seemed to calm him. Most times Dorian asked a question, he got a small noise or head movement in reply. Dorian didn’t know what it meant, but he was amazed by the realization that they were in fact replies. 

He woke later to Rowan gently shaking his shoulder. He didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep, but it was now full night. At some point, he’d slumped against the neck of the wyvern, who had completely encircled him. His dark eyes were wide open and alert, watching Rowan’s every movement. The Fae prince acknowledged the protective behavior by easing backwards a few feet. 

“She woke for a few minutes when Aelin was with her, but she’s gone back to sleep.” Rowan looked at the wyvern then back to him. With a knowing smile, he added, “I thought you’d want to know.”

Dorian wasn’t sure for whom that last sentence was meant. Perhaps both of them. He stood and patted the wyvern’s snout. “I’ll be back.” A huff of air blew into his face and he wrinkled his nose. “You did have some fish, huh?” The wyvern slid his tail back, letting Dorian go to follow Rowan. 

“Thank you. For healing her.”

Rowan stopped and looked at him. “I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t strategy involved.” Dorian tensed, suddenly not interested in hearing the rest of what Rowan had to say. “That wasn’t the only reason. I know I said she couldn’t be trusted, and I’m not yet convinced that she can be. I don’t know her motivations, but…” He paused and Dorian held his breath, glad for the ‘but’. “It’s pretty obvious this was punishment for Rifthold. Manon Blackbeak is many things but stupid is not one of them. She saved you knowing this could be the price. We owe her for that.”

Rowan started walking again but Dorian didn’t move. He couldn’t decide if he should feel complimented by Rowan’s words, or insulted. _We owe her_. Those three words could mean such different things. Was the debt for saving their friend? Or was it for saving a political ally? One who was essential for whatever schemes Aelin had brewing in her head. Dorian realized the Fae prince was watching him, frowning and curious. He shook his head in an absentminded fashion and followed Rowan below deck.

Manon hadn’t said much according to Aelin, who seemed happy to switch off guard duties to Dorian. She gave him a withering look and said, “She is our prisoner. Not a guest.”

Dorian said nothing as she turned and joined Rowan on his way to their room. Again, he tried to categorize the comment. She wasn’t wrong, but her tone gave away her lack of faith in him. But he knew when to pick his battles with Aelin, and that particular snide remark wasn’t worth a fight.  

Careful not to make much noise, Dorian sat in the only chair in her cabin, one that was deliberately kept out of striking distance of those deadly claws. He felt a little uncomfortable, just sitting there and watching her sleep. She couldn’t be left alone though, not at this early stage of the healing process. But in an attempt to offer some semblance of privacy, he decided he wouldn’t sit and stare at her. Even if a part of him wanted to memorize every inch of her face. Instead, he spent his time practicing his magic, sending ice crystals out and reeling them back, trying to form objects with them. When he tired of the ice, he gave fire a try and discovered he was capable of creating a small, steady flame. 

After three days of healing sessions with Rowan and Aelin, three days of training his ice and fire magic to react with greater control and precision, three days of anxious waiting, Manon finally regained consciousness. When he saw her eyelids flutter, Dorian tamped down his relief and fought to keep the smile off his face. She was lethal, and she was their prisoner. At least until they knew more about how and why she’d come to find them. So while he knew he needed to keep his head around Manon, he also knew, overwhelmingly and inexplicably, that there was something more between them.

He shifted into his regal persona of cold composure, then cleared his throat to draw her attention. Her golden eyes opened, sparking to life when she recognized who now sat before her. With a flash, he wondered how long his facade might last against her.

“Hello witchling.”

Dorian waited with held breath for her reaction. Waited and hoped. He wasn’t quite sure what he was hoping for but- 

“Hello princeling.”

 

 

Inspired by [this post](https://propshophannah.tumblr.com/post/170431000358/its-so-unrealistic-dorian-not-interacting-with) on tumblr by [@propshophannah](https://tmblr.co/mUADD7qOEg0jMGuLfShlmSw) and encouraged by [@itach-i](https://tmblr.co/m7KZ4RTMn_kx94kIakEZSeQ)


	13. Challenge

“You move quietly. For a human.”

He took it as the compliment she’d intended, smirking with satisfaction as he slipped through the bushy saplings at the edge of the wood. She’d scented him long before hearing him, but there was no need to share that piece of information. Just as there was no need for him to see the smile on her face. She looked skyward, making herself become very interested in the patterns of the stars.

Joining her where she leaned against a half fallen stone wall, he turned his head to the sky, following her gaze.

“You know I’m shielding the camp right? You don’t have to be out here on watch.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “You can maintain a magical shield while you sleep?” She tried to sound skeptical, taunting. But his smirk widened. He’d heard the hint of admiration she couldn’t hide.

“I’m not sleeping. Neither are you.”

Her brow arched. “Thank you for the clarification. I thought maybe I was dreaming all of this.”

He laughed softly, and though she’d returned to her study of the night sky, she knew he was now staring at her.

“You dream about me?” 

That voice. Somehow gravelly with desire yet smooth as silk at the same time. Something flared inside her and she gave up the battle, turning to face him.

At the sight of him - his smoldering eyes dark with hunger, his lips barely parted and ripe for kissing, his raven black hair tousled and gleaming in the moonlight - she found herself speechless. He watched intently as her eyes roamed over every inch of his face, then swept down his tall body, and back up again.

“You want me,” he said. The arrogance and charm he exuded did nothing to cover up the effect she was having on him.

Shifting towards him, she drawled, “Do I? As badly as you want me?”

For emphasis, she twisted her hip to rub against the hard ridge in his pants. He hissed at the touch, but didn’t step away.

Instead, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. His hand dropped lower and he angled her into him so she could feel the full force of his want. A searing heat spread over her body and a gasp escaped before she could contain it.

He pulled on her braid and when her head tilted back, he was at her neck, running his lips and tongue over her skin. Her blood thrummed and she was surprised to find her hands had become tangled in his hair.

“You fight dirty,” she murmured, amazed at how quickly she’d gotten lost in their playful attempts to resist each other.

She’d tried to keep her voice steady, but knew it hadn’t worked by the feel of his smiling mouth on her skin. He lifted her up and guided her legs around him. This position, the teasing proximity of bare contact, his tight grip on her thighs, the subtle movement of his hips, sent a shivering jolt through her core. When his teeth slid roughly along her collarbone, she dropped her head back and released a long, breathy moan. It was a sound lush with need and wild abandon. A sound she’d never before heard from her lips. It was a sound that, with anyone else, might have made her feel exposed and vulnerable. But with him, with their passions so intense yet evenly matched, she felt charged and powerful. 

His mouth traveled slowly up the other side of her neck until his lips reached her ear, his breath warm and sweet. “I will do anything, dirty or clean, to hear you moan like that again.”

It was her turn to smile. “You’re welcome to try, princeling.”

He pulled back, just enough so his mouth hovered in front of hers. She licked her lips in anticipation and his eyes sparked with heat. 

“Challenge accepted, witchling.”


	14. The King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This holiday AU developed from a conversation with @itach-i (on tumblr). I never intended to post it. But I’ve been having a rough time writing lately so I thought this might get me back into things.
> 
> NSFW - there’s swearing and smut.  
> Please forgive the badly done emojis!

Dorian turned the car off and looked around the parking lot. Again. It was empty. Just as it had been when he’d arrived ten minutes ago. Aelin’s friend was supposed to be waiting outside the dorm. And he was at the right dorm. _Five more minutes before I’m calling Aelin._

_Stupid to not get the woman’s number_ , he thought. Stupider to agree to Aelin’s request to drive this friend home for break instead of flying back as he’d intended.

He pulled out his phone and stared at it, trying to decide what to do. He wasn’t waiting all day. It was a nine hour drive to Rifthold and they needed to be on the road. He shook his head, disgusted with himself for giving in to Aelin so easily. He could’ve been halfway home by now if he’d flown. But no. Nine hours in a car with a stranger. He wasn’t shy, but he also wasn’t in the mood to be his usual charming self. This semester had been hell and he just wanted to go home and see his friends.

As he scrolled through old texts waiting for five minutes to pass, he saw her name and sighed. Sorscha was still in his phone. Dorian’s stomach dropped at the memory of finding her with that asshole from their favorite pizza place. Ren. _What the fuck kind of name is Ren_ , he fumed. Before he made himself relive the whole sordid mess, he deleted her texts, deleted her from his contacts. He was about to go through his photos when a hand knocked loudly on his window.

Dorian jumped and the phone was sent flying from his grasp. “Jesus Christ!” When he caught his breath and looked to see who had just scared the shit out of him… “Jesus Christ,” he muttered softly.

The woman staring in at him was perhaps the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. No, not perhaps. She was. He’d seen her around campus this past semester but he’d never spoken to her since he was with Sorscha. She had a knit hat covering her white hair, her most recognizable feature. But her eyes… He’d never seen her up close before and holy shit… Unamused and lined in black, the most incredible, golden eyes he’d ever seen watched him. Realizing he was just sitting there like an idiot in a trance, he opened the door and got out.

Holding out his hand, he said, “Hi. I’m Dorian. You must be-“

“Manon Blackbeak. Can you pop the trunk?” She had several bags, including a couple of garbage bags.

“Sure.” He clicked his key fob and bent to pick up her bags.

“I’ve got them,” she said.

He watched her try to get them all under control then took a couple of the bags and walked around the car.

She shot him a glare but didn’t say anything. As they filled the trunk, he smiled and said, “Dirty laundry? My suitcases are full too.” Manon didn’t return the smile but she’d replaced the annoyed expression with something more neutral. The second they were done, she walked to the front and got in.

_Okay_ , Dorian thought, shutting the trunk. _This should be interesting_.

Just as he sat, Manon took off her hat and shook her hair out. _Oh god_. The scent of lavender filled the car as she twirled it around into a messy bun. His grip on the steering wheel tightened. Nine hours in a car with Manon…

Noticing her looking at him, he gave her his best smile and said, “So-“

“Listen,” she interrupted. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m a first year grad student in veterinary science. I have no money. Which is why I’m not flying home. It’s also why I had to resort to free housing in exchange for being a RA. I don’t care what your major is, or who your favorite band is, or what your favorite IPA is. Or whatever other small talk you make with the girls at your frat parties. I just want to sleep. Wake me up when you need me to drive.”

As she reclined her seat and flung an arm over her face, Dorian said, “How do you get your hair to stay white like that?”

 

* * *

 

Manon shifted her arm and opened an eye. Dorian was smiling at her. A bit wickedly, in fact. She propped herself up on an elbow and narrowed her eyes. “Witchcraft.” She didn’t know where that answer came from, but it seemed to suit the vibe of the moment. The only change to his expression was a slow widening of his grin. Then he turned and started messing with his phone.

Laying back, Manon didn’t know what to make of that. Of him. Yeah, he was attractive. Something Aelin had conveniently failed to mention when she’d arranged this. Okay, he was more than just attractive. That grin had been pretty damn hot. And his blue eyes… She slid her arm over just an inch and watched him from the corner of her eye. Her gaze fell on his hands. Then his toned forearms peeking out from rolled up sleeves. Then… _  
_

_Shit. Go to sleep Manon. You don’t need this in grad school._

He was still on his phone, not looking at her, when he said, “Do you mind if I listen to an audiobook? Aelin got me hooked on Audible and sent a bunch of recommendations.” He turned to her. “This one is called _The King_. Looks like it’s about vampires. Right up your alley, witchling.” Manon stared daggers at him, but he just gave her that same cocky expression as before. No fear. No intimidation. His face softened as he added, “I’ll keep the volume down. Go ahead and sleep for a few hours.”

He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Manon sat back and closed her eyes, knowing full well there was no way she’d be able to sleep now. And that it would have nothing to do with the volume.

Dorian kept it turned down but Manon still heard every word. And although it sounded as though the book was part of a series, she found herself sucked into the story nonetheless. Much to her annoyance. The narrator was taking the story awfully seriously, reading with such an intense, deep voice, that it was its own entertainment. After a couple of chapters, she gave up on sleep, brought her seat upright and gazed out the window.

Dorian glanced over. “I can turn it off. Or put music on.”

Manon shook her head. “No. It’s fine.” Despite her earlier inclination to be disinterested, she didn’t want to be a total bitch. And it had nothing to do with his eyes. Or his mouth. Or… She bit her lip and rummaged through her backpack for a snack. She pulled out a bag of gingerbread men and offered one to Dorian, who smiled in thanks. She looked away quickly and focused on the passing scenery. They sat in silence, eating the cookies that some overly grateful sophomore had made her for the holiday.

 

> _Chapter Seven_
> 
> _“Give me your mouth,” Wrath demanded._
> 
> _Beth tilted her head back and leaned into her mate’s arms. “You want it? So take it.”_
> 
> _The growl that came out of that massive chest was a reminder that her man was not, in fact, a man. He was the last purebred vampire left on the planet—and when it came to her and sex, he was fully capable of going wrecking-ball to get at her. And not in the stupid-ass Miley Cyrus poser-sex way— and provided Beth was willing, of course._
> 
> _Although really, when a woman had the opportunity to get with six feet, nine inches of hard-ass dressed in black leather, who just happened to have pale green eyes that glowed like the moon, and black hair down to the aforementioned concrete posterior? No was not just out of her vocabulary; it was a foreign concept.  
>  _
> 
>  

Manon turned slowly to look at Dorian. His cheeks were flushing red and his mouth was hanging open. “What the fuck is this?” she asked.

“Uhhh…” He reached over and fumbled with his phone, swerving slightly in his haste to pause the book.

 

> _“Oh, fuck,” he said into her mouth as one of his hands slipped in between her thighs. “I want this— yeah … are you wet for me, leelan.” Not a question. Because he knew the answer, didn’t he. “I can smell you,” he groaned against her ear as he ran his fangs up her throat. “The most beautiful thing in the world—except for your taste. You taste like peaches…” That gravel in his voice, the straining in his hips, that hard length pressing into her—she orgasmed right then and there._
> 
>  

As he tried to keep the car on the road, his phone fell between his feet. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “What the hell Aelin?!” He looked over, horror-stricken. “I didn’t know. She didn’t tell me what this book was about.”

Manon raised an eyebrow as he continued to swear under his breath. Actually, she believed him. There was no way someone could fake the heated embarrassment spreading over his face and neck. And Aelin would totally suggest a book to play without telling him that it was full of sex scenes. That was her idea of humor. They passed a sign that read “Next Exit 20 Miles” and Dorian swore again. She wondered if he’d have the nerve to ask her to bend down and look for his phone. A fleeting look in her direction and she knew he’d considered it and thought better of it.

 

> _Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip._
> 
> _With that happy noise, she lost another outfit in her wardrobe—and wasn’t Wrath proud of himself. Flashing fangs long as daggers and white as the driven snow, he proceeded to turn her silk button- down into a Swiffer, shredding the thing off her naked breasts, buttons flying everywhere._
> 
> _“Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Wrath tore off his wraparounds and smiled, exposing his dental hardware. “Nothing in the way…”_
> 
>  

Unable to hold it in, Manon burst out laughing. “Oh my god! Who references brand name cleaning supplies in the middle of a sex scene?!”

 

> _-weight crushing her, her bare ass squeaking against the floor as he pounded into her, her legs straining to link around so he could go even deeper. It was total domination, his great body pistoning in an erotic pump that got ever faster and more intense._
> 
>  

“Huh. I guess only Swiffer can clean the floor to an ass-squeaking shine,” she said thoughtfully.

Dorian, eyes on the road, finally began to laugh too. Manon watched him as the scene continued, and with each ridiculous “pumping thrust into her sex” and seemingly spontaneous orgasm the narrator brought to life, his cheeks grew pinker. And she grew more enamored.

 

* * *

 

He was going to kill Aelin. She was dead. He would strangle her with his bare hands. He looked over at Manon, who was listening intently, hand over her mouth, eyebrows crooked in disbelief. She shook with laughter and he had to smile. At least she believed he wasn’t some idiotic sleaze who would play a smutty audiobook in a long car ride with a stranger.

“Remind me to never, ever, take book recommendations from Aelin,” Manon said. Her eyes were brilliant and he had to force himself to look back to the road. God, he’d thought she was beautiful when she was pissed. When she smiled… He was done.

As he signaled for the exit, Manon threw her hand up and said, “You don’t have to stop.” She shifted uneasily in her seat and added, “I mean. Unless you want to turn it off.”

“I need to get gas anyway,” he said, pretending he hadn’t heard the urgency in her voice.

She jumped out of the car as soon as he stopped at the pump. Opening his door, he said, “I’ll get it.” She just smiled and said, “Nope. It’s your car. The least I can do is pay for the gas.”

He wasn’t going to argue, so he fished his phone out from under his seat. And texted Aelin.

_You give shit book recs_

The reply was instant.

_Pretty sure u should b thanking me_

Then, because she was an asshole…

 

* * *

 

 

“All set,” Manon said as she got in. “Want to get something to eat?” She nodded to the restaurant across the road. Her mood had certainly lightened, and Dorian wondered if maybe he should thank Aelin.

“That might involve small talk,” he teased.

“Finals week was awful. I’m sorry I took it out on you. Grad school is…” She sighed.

Dorian nudged her arm and smiled. “Hey. We just survived a smutty audiobook stealth attack. You will survive grad school.” A rush of heat flooded his body as she laughed and Dorian wondered if it was possible to become addicted to that sound. “I just happen to be majoring in…” He paused and looked at her for permission to continue. She rolled her eyes but waved her hand for him to go on. “I’m a junior in biochem. So, we may have some things to talk about besides beer. Also, IPAs are overrated.”

Manon’s face brightened and she sighed with relief. “Thank fuck! If I had to listen to one more guy try to mansplain hops to me, or claim that my taste buds are just inferior…” With a hint of apology in her voice, she said, “I swear a lot.”

Dorian grinned. “One of my mom’s favorite sayings is ‘It sounds like shit when a lady swears.’” And just like that, she was laughing again.

 

* * *

 

Manon was glad to be home, but she couldn’t ignore the growing sense of disappointment at having their drive come to an end. Dorian drove slowly down the long gravel road to her cousin’s house, and she wondered if he felt the same. The trip had taken them close to eleven hours. They’d finished the audiobook – the king and queen ending up with a princeling, much to no one’s surprise – and talked the rest of the time. He was certainly more than just a pretty face, she’d found out. And that was a surprise, considering the kind of jerks she’d dated in the past.

“So you found them together in _your_ apartment?” she asked. “What a bitch,” she said under her breath. “Oh, uh, sorry.”

He laughed. “No. You’re right.” He looked over at her quickly and she felt something charged run over her skin. “She wasn’t right for me anyway.”

Manon agreed but didn’t say anything. She’d come to like Dorian. A lot. But the truth was, she had so much on her plate right now that adding a guy to it was a bad idea. But… he didn’t feel like the average guy.

“Hey, if you need to head back early for your lab work, I can leave the day after Christmas.”

He’d already driven half a day for nothing more than gas money. And this whole set-up – for it had been a set-up, by Aelin - was a huge inconvenience for him. “No, that’s not fair. You can’t lose half your break. I can wait til after New Year’s like we’d planned.”

With a smirk, he said, “Are you sure you can wait that long for the next book in the series?”

She’d looked up the author to find there were more than ten books in the vampire series, most with “Lover” in the title. Yes, Aelin had chosen well. She was about to say she could wait, when she realized she didn’t want to wait that long to see him again. He lived in another town, so it wasn’t likely they’d run into each other.

Coming around a sharp turn, the house suddenly came into view and Dorian parked near the front gate. The door opened and a herd of dogs came running out, barking and jumping, wrestling each other to the ground. Asterin followed, yelling at the dogs in a futile attempt to control them.

“She does have a lot of dogs,” Dorian said with a grin. “I can see why you want to become a vet.” After a few moments, he said quietly, “You want some help with your bags?”

Manon blinked. She’d just been sitting there, making no move to get out of the car. “Uh… No, I can get them.”

He got out anyway and they met at the trunk. He lifted everything out and carried it to the gate. All the dogs were there, noses sticking through the fence slats. After they sniffed his hands, they preceded to try to lick him to death.

“They like you,” Asterin said as she shoved a couple out from under her feet. “They don’t like most men.” Dorian gave her a questioning look. “They’re foster dogs. So some of them have been abused.”

“Hey there,” he said, petting each one in turn as they fought for his attention.

While he was distracted, Asterin gave him an exaggerated once over, wiggled her eyebrows at Manon, and mouthed _Oh. My. God._

Manon flipped her off. Then smirked in agreement.

Asterin turned to go back inside, calling the dogs after her. Once she and Dorian were alone again, the silence became awkward. Until he said, “Will you have dinner with me? In a couple of nights. So you can see your family first.”

“You live an hour away,” she said.

“So? That’s nothing compared to eleven.”

She laughed. “How about we meet in the middle? There’s a crappy looking bar 20 miles from here that has the best burgers around.”

“Perfect.”

They exchanged numbers and she gave him directions to the bar where they’d meet in a few nights. As he drove away, Manon made an early resolution to make a little more room on her plate in the coming year.

Later, as she lay in bed, unable to sleep, her phone buzzed.

_Hello witchling_.

Manon rolled her eyes, smiling as excitement rushed through her.

_Hello princeling_.

_I’m not sure if I want your nickname for me to be associated with that book_. _  
_

_Shouldn’t you be sleeping?_

Several moments passed before he replied.

_I was thinking maybe we could go out tomorrow night. Actually it’s already the next day, so tonight.  
_

_Anxious for another audiobook?_

Another pause.

_Anxious to see you again._

Now she waited, unsure of how to respond. Finally, she typed

_All of my cousins are coming for dinner tonight. It’ll be a madhouse. If you’re ok with that, be here at 6._

His reply was immediate.

_I’ll be there at 5. With a selection of the best IPAs. I’ll mansplain why they all taste like shit._

Manon laughed, and then tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. When it buzzed again, the fluttering turned sour as she read

_Do you think they’ll want to know how much you enjoyed that book?  
_

_Don’t. You. Dare._

_Congratulations! You’ve just guaranteed that they’ll get a play-by-play description._

_Did I mention that several of my cousins are into martial arts? And if they think you were trying to pick me up with a smutty audiobook they’ll kick your ass?_

A long pause.

_But if we ever end up getting married, that story has to be in the toast._

_The story about the audiobook or the ass-kicking?_

_So you’re offering me a choice of which story to tell at our wedding?_

With a laugh, she typed

… _well played. I like stouts. Most of them like wine. Goodnight princeling. Sorry. You’re stuck with that name._

_Goodnight witchling_

* * *

 

Before Dorian went to sleep, he sent one final text.

_Sigh.  
_

_THANK YOU  
_

_THANK YOU  
_

_THANK YOU_

Aelin’s reply was surprisingly restrained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The audiobook is The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood series) by JR Ward. Full disclosure, I've never listened to the audiobook so I don't know what the narrator sounds like. While I have issues with some of the tropes, and with the excessive product placement LOL, I'd have to consider myself a fan. So, this is all meant in good fun :D


	15. Time

Dorian slumped against a large pine tree and eased himself to the ground, watching the witches unload supplies and begin on their camp for the night. He’d offered to help, but each one had walked by him as if he didn’t exist. The sole exception, the redhead who seemed to take over when Manon disappeared with the short one, acknowledged him with a saucy smirk as if she knew something he didn’t. He took their not-so-subtle hints and moved out of their way to sit alone, waiting for Manon to return.

While they busied themselves, he suddenly understood how difficult it must have been for Manon on the ship, being the odd one out of a tightly knit group. _Although_ , he mused, _I wasn’t exactly woven too deeply into that group._ The thought was not new, though he’d done his best to not dwell on it over the past weeks.  

Before he could sink into it now, he was distracted by the sound of someone approaching. Not _someone_. He would have known it was her if he was deaf and blind. Both the growing tension in his muscles and the loneliness building in his chest quickly faded.

“Wine?” Manon offered the skin and sat down next to him. A faint smile graced her face and he was struck by how lovely she looked, lovely even after a long day of traveling by mirror and wyvern.

“Your witches are well prepared,” he replied, grateful for the strong drink.

“Dorian.”

Manon’s smile was gone, and he felt as though something momentous, either good or ill, was about to happen. As he waited for her to continue, Dorian slowly realized that the expression she wore wasn’t one of fear or impending doom. Or rather, it was, but not because of any of the threats facing them on this journey. Instead she looked torn between speaking whatever was on her mind, or keeping it bottled up forever. Manon’s face softened the longer she stared, and her eyes roamed over his face. He fought back the urge to smile, though he could do nothing about the warmth now spreading over his cheeks. The way she looked at him… it was impossible not to react.

As if coming out of a trance, she turned away to watch her coven and said, “I’m impressed that so many survived Maeve’s attack. The numbers weren’t in your favor.” She grabbed the wine skin from him and took a long drink.

Dorian had to smile before stating the obvious. “Rowan’s family turning against Maeve made a difference. And your Thirteen saved us outright.” She surveyed her coven again, trying to appear detached, but her pride shone through as bright as a torch in the night. “Were you expecting that horrible of an outcome?”

Manon turned and stared at him again, deciding whether or not to take up his teasing tone. But she surprised him when she said, “I didn’t know what to expect. But… I’d hoped you would survive.”

Dorian didn’t care how many eyes might be watching. He slid himself closer and leaned towards her. “I was very glad to find you safe today too, Manon.” She hadn’t shifted away, so he tilted his head and kissed her.

He’d wanted to do it when he first saw her that morning, but the circumstances on the Eyllwe beach hadn’t allowed for it. Their brief exchange when he’d settled behind her on Abraxos had brought the desire back tenfold.

_“My witches will be watching, so I’d advise that you be on your best behavior, princeling.”_

_“My manners are usually impeccable but this…” He slid into the saddle behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “This might be too much for even me.”_

_“You’re certainly free to test them,” she drawled, jerking on the reins to push her wyvern into the sky._

Manon broke their kiss, the kiss he’d thought about all day. Her eyes were still closed as she licked her bottom lip. Dorian inhaled her scent, like the bright green of a summer morning, like the brush of wind through his hair. It left him bursting with life, feeling somehow awake and dreaming at the same time.

“My kingdom for a few days alone with you, witchling,” he breathed into her ear. 

A tiny gasp escaped her lips and he wondered if she was aware of it. Pulling back from him, she crooked an eyebrow and asked, “A few days?” Her voice came out in a rough whisper and she couldn’t hide the tinge of wonder in it.

His mouth twitched into a smirk. “Not nearly as long as I’d prefer,” he said. “But I think I could make the best of such a short amount of time.”

Her golden eyes widened for a split second. But he’d noticed, and his smile grew. “Have you never experienced such pleasures before?”

“Of course,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “But I’ve never had a desire to keep my playthings around for that long.”

His blood heated at the sharp bite that rang in her words, despite the disinterest on her face. “It sounds like those playthings were woefully inadequate if they couldn’t hold your attention.”

Now it was Manon’s turn to smirk. “Woefully inadequate ,” she repeated with a breathy laugh. “It seems you _speak_ like a fine lady too.”

“Well, I have been told my tongue is quite extraordinary.”

This time she laughed for real, a rich, velvety sound that made his heart stutter. A sound he would do anything to hear again.

“Alas, princeling,” she said, glancing around them at the rest of her coven, so close yet unaware of their conversation, “it appears that bargain will not be met anytime soon.”

He leaned over and brushed his lips along the curve of her ear, eliciting a soft moan that almost undid him. “Don’t despair, witchling.” He breathed her in again, ran his fingers through her silken hair. “You’ll find I’m quite patient.” He sat back. “And well equipped to hold your interest for a very long time.”

Before she could respond, Dorian stood and walked towards the camp, where the twins were cooking something over the fire. He couldn’t help a glance back though. He froze, but smiled at what he saw. Manon Blackbeak, eyes closed, hands clenched, taking deep breaths… as if willing herself to calm down and not dwell on the images he’d planted in her head.

When her eyes opened and she caught him watching, the look she gave him was like a mountain of tinder to the flames already burning inside him. Gods! Having an abundance of patience had been a fool’s claim. With that realization came another and his smile faded completely. Those same fantasies taunting her would also be tormenting him for the unforeseeable future. 

_My kingdom for any time alone with you_ , he thought, unable to drag his eyes from her as she approached. _Just time. To talk, to do anything, everything._ The anxious desire welled furiously within him and something changed in her gaze, as if she understood. 

Manon stopped close in front of him, out of sight from the others. “Don’t despair, princeling. We have a long journey ahead of us. And,“ she raised herself up on her toes to look directly into his eyes. “My interest has been well and truly piqued.”

Dorian was surprised to feel her brush against him as she moved away. For a split second, she took his hand, squeezed it, and then she was gone. That touch alone settled the unease that had crept over him. 

From behind, he heard her call out, “Your best manners tonight _ladies_. We dine with royalty.” He dropped his head and laughed, at her teasing and the loud grumbling that came from her witches. 

When he joined them and started in on a surprisingly good stew, Manon sat next to him. As the others talked and argued and joked, she spoke quietly to him, gesturing around the circle with each witch’s name and little tidbits about them. Several nodded in acknowledgment or pulled him into whatever conversation they were having. Dorian smiled more and more as the night wore on, increasingly grateful for any and all time he’d be given with Manon.


End file.
